


New Jersey in September

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Joanlock - Freeform, New Jersey, Partnership, Tiny cameo appearance if you know who to look for, brief nudity but not like naked nudity, eventually, hotel room, relationshup growth, tunnels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-06-10 17:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15296541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: The day starts off badly for Watson, gets worse for Holmes and then together they slide off into awful.





	1. Chapter 1

The handle squeaked as she turned the water off. Joan reached for the kitchen towel and dried her hands. Once done, she smoothed the towel out before folding it and carefully setting it back down on the counter. Yes, she had heard her phone ring but was in no hurry to answer it.

In time, she strolled over to the table and swiped her phone open. The call was from a motel in New Jersey. She arched a brow as she listened to the voice mail.

"Watson, I am need of assistance. Please call me back at this number as soon as convenient. Second thought, call me back now even if inconvenient."

Joan rolled her eyes at the phone and hit the call back button. 

"What?" She had still not forgiven him. 

"Ah Watson, good. I need you to bring me a full set of clothing. My garments were absconded with. 

"So, you are naked in a motel in New Jersey and I'm ...?"

He cut her off. "Not what you think. I had an informant go rogue. Left me with nothing but my socks and shoes. 

"Well, at least she left you socks and shoes, huh?"

"HE, Watson, HE. He bought himself time by taking my clothes. I'm standing here au naturale. Do you think you could hurry?

"You know Bell solved the case. There's no hurry."

"Look, I know you're still peeved at me for the pig offal in your breakfast container this morning, but you are the one who dropped it and...." he stopped himself and took on a more pleasant tone. "Please, Watson? I'm naked and bored and in need of your help..... Please?"

She thought about it for a second or two, "Fine. Where exactly are you?"

"Room 42b, The Outand Inn, the Chambersburg neighborhood, in Trenton. It's off the main ... oh just Google it."

He was getting testy. She'd best get out there before he made himself a kilt from pillowcases and started walking home. 

"It's going to take an hour or two."

"Well aware. Just come as quickly as you can."

 

The neighborhood and its citizenry looked, well, eccentric might be the nicest way to phrase it. Street upon street of outdated architecture stylishly accented in faded oranges and greens proclaimed that the seventies were alive and well here, so much so that she half expected the parking lot to be covered in shag carpeting. Joan pulled into the one of the many empty spaces in the motel's lot. As she turned the ignition off, a boom rattled windows - across the street, a too-nice-for-the-area black SUV exploded into flames. A young woman stopped mid-gait, stuffed a powdered donut in her mouth and watched the vehicle burn. No one else even batted an eyelash. 

Joan suddenly understood why Sherlock might be in a hurry to leave.

 

She made her way upstairs and knocked on the door to 42b. The door cracked open and she was motioned in. The smell of pine cleaner with a strong undercurrent of mold greeted her as she entered. Joan gave the room a quick once over. The decor might pass for shabby chic, but she was inclined to believe it was just shabby - yellowing white walls and worn-out furniture whose peeling grey craquelure was the result of age rather than intentional craft. The rust patches on the iron headboard and stained linoleum floor added just the right touch of seedy. 

In the middle of all this stood Sherlock, ramrod straight, chin defiantly jutted out, trying to maintain some sense of dignity while wearing nothing but what must have been the world's smallest bath towel stretched around his hips.

Joan inadequately suppressed a smile and handed him the duffle bag into which she had stuffed selected underwear, shirt, trousers, jacket. "What happened? How did you even get here?"

"Subway, line 2, Jersey transit ... a two hour trip for nothing.... a complete waste of my time." As he talked he pulled out and examined the clothing she brought and finding his underwear, he turned his back to her and removed the towel. They'd lived together for years, the sight of his rear didn't faze her. In fact, he had quite a decent bottom ... it was no hardship to watch him dress.

"May I ask who your informant was? It must have been someone you trusted to come all the way out ..."

"The Nose! Can you believe that he of all people would do this." Sherlock snapped the band on his underwear and reached for his trousers. "He asked for the information I had on the Perfumista, you know, the one that's been in the news lately, in exchange for information he had on our case ... gave me nothing and fled with the file."

Trousers on but not zipped, Sherlock picked up the shirt she'd brought, a pink checkered print with a white collar. He side-eyed her and she responded with an only slightly guilty shrug.

"He must have had a weapon? I mean, you could knock that man over with the push of a finger..."

"He wasn't armed but his "nephew" was." He buttoned up the shirt. "I trusted the man, my guard was down ... " he sighed. "There is no excuse. I was bested by an octogenarian." He zipped up his pants. 

His shirttail was not properly tucked and she reached, pushing it in and down into his trousers. "It happens. We trust people. Sometimes to our detriment ..."

Sherlock moved from the waist, faced her, and lowered his head, "I didn't think things through last night. I needed a container to store the uhm ... entrails... I had no idea you'd react so strongly. I should have I suppose ..."

Her fingers tucked the last of the errant material down into his trousers, "I know it wasn't on purpose. The problem is you don't stop to think about how your actions affect others, about their feelings, its inconsiderate ... not to mention gross and annoying."

"I'm sorry ...Forgive me... " He whispered. 

She moved her hand up to his lower back and smoothed at his shirt. Joan nodded and they  
held the moment in silence, heads bent and close, until a loud knock at the door made them both jump. 

 

Sherlock strode to the door and angrily flung it open. "What?"

The hotel manager, whose normal body posture was C-shaped, threw his shoulders back in surprise and winced. "Dammit," he muttered, as he deflated back to his normal curvature. Wearing an olive green cardigan that looked like something Mr. Rogers threw out in the mid-sixties and sporting a combover of three hairs that started an inch up from his right ear and valiantly stretched themselves across his liver-spotted bald head, the man squinted at Sherlock. "Young punk... show some respect. ... Here, this, ... this is for you." He handed Sherlock a large yellow envelope. 

"What's this?"

"Damn if I know! I don't go through other people's stuff," the manager barked at Sherlock and started to walk away. "You and your girlie better finish your business before three, checkout time is three!" He kept grumbling menacingly at the floor as he walked away.

Sherlock reached in the envelope and pulled out his wallet. He handed it to Watson. "Take a look would you? There should be $73, an American Express card and ID card." 

He dove back into the envelope and pulled out his phone. "I doubt he got through the protection I've set up on here but best to be thorough." He unlocked his phone and checked for messages, account activities, scanner reports and the like. 

Joan examined the wallet and all its little pockets and called out her results. "No money. Credit card and ID are in place." She rifled some more. "Nope. Nothing else except a transit receipt, a photo of Clyde and a two-for-one coupon for Thai City."

Phone still in hand, Sherlock pivoted his head and squinted a confused look in her direction. "Coupon?"

Joan, who knew Sherlock wouldn't use a coupon unless her life depended on it, was already examining the paper. "It has something written on the back.... the writing is tiny and shaky ..." He now stood beside her, peering over her shoulder.

'Apologies. Am captive. Of nephew. Being taken to Gates of Purgatory.'

"Gates of Purgatory?" She looked at him confused as he took the slip of paper from her hand. 

"Clifton, New Jersey is the home of a series of tunnels known as the Gates of Hell for the supposed evil and supernatural occurrences that have transpired in its depths, all codswallop and hokum, of course, fed by fevered adolescent imagination. Trenton, New Jersey, not to be outdone, has labeled, with I assume a smirk on its collective face, a series of its own storm drain tunnels as the Gates of Purgatory..." 

Joan listened to him with an odd look upon her face.

"What?" he asked confused by her expression. 

"How do you even know about any of that?"

"Google, Atlas Obscura, conspiracy forums..." His voice trailed off as he set to examining the note with greater care. "Odd. I was truly under the impression The Nose was most definitely in charge. And why return my phone and wallet?"

Joan took the note back from him, "The style of the handwriting and weak manner it's written in are consistent with a mature hand. I don't know, but I would rather err on the side of caution and see if we can help him."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the record, the Gates of Hell in Clifton, N.J., is a real place. Trenton's Gates of Purgatory are wholly my invention.   
> There is more to come but my schedule for the next week or so will slow me down. Sorry.

Bits of gravel flew and a cloud of dust billowed behind the car as she sped down the dirt road. They'd not seen another vehicle or structure since turning off from the main road just outside the city limits. 

"Here, here, here ... pull over here." Sherlock pointed and checked the GPS on his phone once more. "Yes, it should be down there ... somewhere." No sign, no trail, no visual anomaly indicated that this might be the site but Sherlock put his faith in science. She maneuvered the car as best she could to what appeared to be the side of the dirt road.

First out of the vehicle, Sherlock barreled down through the underbrush. Joan followed at a more cautious pace. Thunder rumbled in the distance and storm clouds hung low and ripe over their heads. 

He turned to her with excitement in his eyes and dramatically waved an arm, "The Gates of Purgatory!"

Joan, who now stood a few feet above and behind him, surveyed the blood red graffiti, mounds of filth, and spidery dried remnants of overgrowth that surrounded the entrance into the tunnel. A gust of September wind rattled the dried vines and blew more trash across and up into the structure's maw. "I've changed my mind. I think The Nose will be just fine without our help."

Sherlock looked up to where she stood on the berm wrangling her hair into a ponytail. Every so often he was overwhelmed by a feeling of gratitude that she was part of his life - loyal, intelligent, fierce, patient, kind and .... absolutely stunning. He gave her an out. "You know, Watson, I'm well acquainted with these sorts of structures. No need for your assistance. If you wish to wait in the car, I'll stay in touch via the phone." He wiggled his phone at her and nodded with a grimace.

With hands on hips, Joan closed her eyes remembering the last time he had found himself alone in a tunnel. "No. No. I go where you go ..." Resignedly, she carefully made her way down the sandy embankment. 

He extended a hand to keep her steady as she hopped over the last low brushy barrier to stand beside him. "You don't have to come with me, Watson. You've done more than your share of unsavory things on my account today."

"Yeah, I'm not sure which was worse cleaning up the pig guts or seeing you naked." 

The tilt of her head and her small half smile was answered with his own fleeting dimpled one. The aforementioned feeling of gratitude was swiftly masked by a rearrangement of posture to feign indignation.

He still held her hand and she gave it a tug, "Come on. It'll start raining any minute now. Let's get this over with."

As they approached the crumbling arch of the tunnel's entrance, he scanned the sand and dirt. "The footprints could be recent .. or not ... hard to tell in this soil and with this wind."

Darkness swallowed them as they crossed the threshold and a moment for their sight to acclimate became necessary. The smell of urine, feces and rot wafted around them. 

"I pity The Nose ... if he truly is here, that is."

"I'm glad I wore closed-toed boots," Joan muttered.

The ground sloped downward as they rounded a corner and a stronger, more fetid aroma rose with the humidity. Sherlock brought out his phone and used its light to scan the area around them. The stone walls were stained with black and green slime, remnants of sewage and oil, and only god and the EPA knew what else. Joan discreetly moved away from the walls and closer to him. 

He lit the ground before them as they walked further. "No sign of any recent human activity." The ground was moist with fermenting puddles of waste close to the walls. "There are of course other entrances they could have used I suppose, but instinct tells me we may have been duped." 

The way before them branched out into two equally narrow and grim looking choices. He gave her the option. "What do you think?" Right, left or back?"

Joan sighed at the choices. "Right is where the smell of decaying flesh is coming from. It's too strong to be recent. I suppose we owe it to the man to at least go a few feet further, so we go left?" She waited and hoped he would disagree with her choice. He didn't. 

"Alright then, left for a few more paces."

This bronchus of the Gates was narrower and its ceiling lower. Once more they moved in closer in an effort to avoid the walls. The path turned to the left and they passed crevices and niches decorated with pseudo-satanic graffiti and bearing amateurish offerings, bits and pieces of things that neither wished to explore too closely.

The semi-circle of light before them shifted to a dull yellow before flickering and as he tapped the phone's screen to check the battery level, the small pinwheel of death churned and the gadget turned itself off. 

"Damn!" He cursed the darkness, battery life length and iPhones in general as he tucked the phone in his pocket. "Try your phone. Hopefully you have more of a charge on it than I had."

His demand was met with silence. "Watson?" Sherlock reached out to make sure she was still there.

"My phone ... is in the car."

A disappointed expulsion of breath was his response. He didn't question her decision or deride it. Being who he was, he accepted the fact they were now both literally left in the dark and commenced calculating a way back to the tunnel's opening. And she, being who she was, was doing likewise. 

"I think our best solution is to walk back to the entrance single file. If you'll place a hand on my shoulder, so we do not get separated, I will trace one hand along the wall..."

She stopped him, "Single file doesn't work well in total darkness; you fall, I fall. Here...." her hand found his shoulder. "Turn facing the way we came in." He did as asked. "Now, put an arm around my shoulder and I'll put one around your waist...." Sherlock was a little tentative and she pulled him in towards her, " ... get in close.... closer." She fit into his side like a puzzle piece; he arranged his grip on her shoulder finding he quite like the feeling. "This way we can support each other and with our free hands feel out the way....."

"Hmm ... You've done this before?"

"Sorority initiation at a house of horrors..."

"Ah."

A tentative step forward in tandem and then another and another built up their confidence. If it was one thing they did well was work together. They strode on.

Progress was halted when a wall suddenly jutted out before them. His foot, and then knee, jammed into it and the repercussion from the collision threw them off balance. They wobbled but held on.

"Okay?"

"Yup. This must be where the path turned left."

"Hmmm..."

His hand laid a little heavier at her shoulder, fingers lightly clenched and drew her closer into him and she more forcibly grabbed hold of his shirt beneath his jacket and then of him; the warmth of her hand radiated through him. The adjustments provided more emotional support than physical. 

With bond renewed and a breath taken, they moved forward into the darkness. Long fingers felt out the rough stone of the wall and used it to guide them through the turns of the narrow passage; her hand went out in front of them making sure nothing surprised them again. 

Sherlock and Joan navigated through the passage until the strong odor from the path not taken presented itself as a welcomed, even if disgusting marker, an indication of how far they'd come. 

"Perhaps I am hallucinating, but it appears there is an incremental increase in the amount of light before us."

Joan rolled her eyes at him even if he couldn't see her do it. "Why can't you just say, I think it looks lighter up there instead of ... oh... hey, you're right!"

The pace was doubled until fresh air swept across their faces and they left the dark purgatory of the faux labyrinth behind. She hugged him in happiness and could have sworn she felt him hug her back but the flash of light and clap of thunder left her no time to consider if he had. Rain began to pour.

"Car!" He yelled at her and she nodded. Running up to the berm, they both stopped, mouth opened. The car was gone. The crack of a lightening bolt landing nearby had them both running back to the safety of their previous prison.


	3. Chapter 3

Ten minutes of watching the rain fall and not one word between them. 

Sherlock watched the small stream of rain water that now meandered down the embankment and made its way into the tunnel. If the storm continued at its present rate, he calculated that in about an hour's time they would need to move or risk being swept back into the Gates of Purgatory.

He took a quick side-eyed assessment of his partner. Standing a foot or so away from him, arms crossed before her, staring at the muddy ground, Watson looked miserable. He couldn't offer to hug away her misery but he could at least be of service to her.

Sherlock turned towards the tunnel's wall, moving closer to examine the stained and lichen riddled surface. He touched the stone with the side of his hand, rubbed it with a finger, then two, and picking a spot, moved in closer and sniff it. His actions drew Joan's attention and she watched in fear that he might lean in and lick the surface. She'd seen him do worse. 

Satisfied with what he saw, Sherlock turned and pressed his upper back against the wall. Hands in pocket, feet firmly planted, he looked at her brightly and motioned her over with a small jerk of his head. 

Joan took a beat before warily approaching him. 

"You may lean against me if you wish." With head tilted to one side, he gave her that small embarrassed one shouldered shrug of his. Joan wondered if he knew just how endearing she found it. "No sense both us soiling our clothes," he added when she did not immediately respond. "Your jacket is worth thrice the price of mine ..."

Fear, love, vulnerability played across his face as she considered his offer. 

Studying him for a moment, she thought about how much he'd changed since they first met, how much they'd both changed. Others might not see it but they brought out the best in each other... and the worst. As angry as she'd been at him earlier today, she couldn't imagine her life without him and didn't want to. 

Relief washed over him as he watched her stance soften. With an amused shake of her head, she turned and carefully leaned back against his chest. She felt him release the breath he held; her shoulders relaxed against him and they stood once more in silence listening to the patter of rain and the fading rolls of thunder. Their physical connection offered a respite from the chaos of the day for no other reason than they were together. 

She heard his stomach rumble, "You're hungry. You're half of the sandwich was in the car ..."

"Hunger is transitory."

Silence again. 

"I'm sorry ... for all this." Her voice, thin and sad, weaved itself around the raindrops. 

"Not your fault." The warmth of his voice moved through her. 

"It is my fault. I left my phone in the car, the keys in the ignition ..."

"And I allowed myself to be duped and left naked in a motel room in Trenton, then dragged you into it, then followed a false lead that brought us to this grim spot. Blaming oneself doesn't help, Watson."

"Well, if you put it that way..." she turned sideways so that her shoulder now pressed against his chest and her head almost lay below his chin. As she moved he took hold of her pony tail and moved it out of her way, smoothing it out and onto her shoulder. His hand lingered there and as she nestled he felt a happiness that was incongruent with their circumstance. 

The rain continued. The wind pushed in a light spray of mist.

"What do we do now? Walk?"

"Yes. Walk. This is the eleventh most populous state in the union and we are outside a major city. I'm sure we will find someone from whom we can request assistance."

His chin grazed the top of her head and he dared lower his lips into her hair. Her eyes closed at the sensation, her cheek lay flat against him and her hand came to his chest, fingers stroking where she felt the pounding of his heart. They breathed in unison, the world around them disappeared. They savored the sweet contentment of the moment. 

"I say Holmes, I could use your assistance ... if you two can spare a moment from your canoodling, that is."

Joan's head bobbed up, slamming into Sherlock's mouth. He grabbed at his reddening lower lip and stared with Joan in disbelief. 

Freshly emerged from the darkness of the Gates, The Nose stood wobbling to and fro, eyes blinking against the light, handkerchief to face, and a blood red gash across his forehead. 

Extricating themselves from each other, they rushed to catch him before he hit the dirt. With a consulting detective on each arm, the elderly gentleman was led to where they'd just been standing and carefully lowered to the ground. Joan moved to examine his wound.

"Umph ... no need, no need for that doctor. I am fine..." He fussed at her but she continued nonetheless.

Sherlock, still wary lest he be duped again, took care in observing the appearance, bruising and general manner of the man before concluding he most likely could not have done this to himself. "What happened?" 

"The villain! He dragged me into that wretched place and threw me in ...." he gasped, "the stench of decaying flesh ... uh..." Joan and Sherlock shared a guilty look - the tunnel branch not taken. 

"... feline, domestic, most possibly one of many in a household with a child ... the trickle of rain water roused me ... the odor so abhorrent I practically crawled out .... followed the stream of debris ...." he droned on.

"Nose!" Sherlock interrupted the man's ramblings. "Where is your nephew now?"

"He is not my nephew. Surely you saw through that ruse." Sherlock looked rather embarrassed but said nothing. "He was headed for the airport, leaving the country ... if you call the authorities they might be able to stop him."

"No phone. Batteries gone." 

"Can't you recharge the apparatus using your vehicle's electrical system?" He looked from one to the other. "You didn't walk here I assume?" 

"The car was stolen while we uhm ... looked for you." Joan's turn at embarrassment came. 

The Nose disgustedly leaned back against the wall. "Yes, I just witnessed the fervor with which you searched for me." He closed his eyes and shook his head, if these two were the pinnacle of today's youth, the world was in for even darker times.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I'm not sure where I'm going with this, if anywhere. It just has gotten goofier of its own accord and it may be awhile before I can reel it back in to a conclusion.

The rain swept off to the north leaving mud and a wisp of a wind in its wake. Night would soon be upon them. 

The Nose was a bullheaded old man. Neither Sherlock's nor Joan's arguments, threats and entreaties convinced him to stay put while one or the other did recon work, traveled the road up ahead and scouted for help. And so, all three now trudged through the mud puddle ridden dirt road. Sherlock scoured the countryside as he walked a few yards ahead of them. 

Joan watched him stop and squint into the trees. She hurried The Nose to catch up to him. 

"There," Sherlock pointed at a thin light made visible by the oncoming dusk. "No driveway but there is a footpath through the brush."

"I can almost make out a structure of some kind ..." Joan tilted her head to get a better view. 

"Stay here while I check it out." Sherlock sprinted up the path in an attempt to avoid another drawn out discussion. 

 

Wooden shack was a more fitting description of the structure than house. His hopes for rescue from their current state diminished upon observing that the light that shone through the dirt speckled glass flickered - kerosene lantern most likely. He knocked on the door.

The door creaked open just enough for a slice of face to peer through and reveal a tangle of blonde dreadlocks, an unkempt beard and a suspicious blue eye. "Did Moonie send you?" A whiff of cannabis followed the statement. 

Sherlock sighed, this was just not his day. "No, Moooonie did not send me. We are in need of assistance." The rustling of underbrush signaled the approach of his companions.

"You a cop? Cause you have to tell me if you are, man ... it's the law." The man's intonation spoke to his having asked the question many, many times before.

Controlling himself, he refrained from rolling his eyes and expounding on the true nature of the law. "No. I am not a cop." For a second he considered elaborating on what his occupation truly was but decided the being on the other side of the door might have concerns about his professional associations so he said nothing more on that subject. "Perhaps you can help me. My name is Sherlock Holmes ... and you are?" 

The blue eye squinted at him before deciding to answer, "Rolly, that's what they call .... Oh wow! A babe!" The door was swung open to reveal a thin t-shirted male in his 20's who showed a keen interest in Watson. Smiling, he flipped back his dreads and took a step across the threshold, "Welcome, welcome to my humble abode."

Joan looked at Sherlock. He was shaking his head almost imperceptably at her, obviously frustrated.

"Look at you old dude, spiffy suit, man!" He moved to touch the older man's jacket.

The Nose recoiled. "Don't touch me!" and took a step towards Sherlock. "Is this the best you can do?"

"At the moment, yes. This is our only choice. If you had stayed behind, we most likely...."

"Ow, ow, ow ... okay ... okay! I give..." 

Sherlock turned to find Watson twisting Rolly's arm behind his back.

"His hand roamed." She stated quietly. "I'm showing him where to keep it."

Pride rolled across his face. He approached Rolls just as Watson released him, "Do you have a cellphone we can use?"

Rolls rubbed at his shoulder and tried rotating the pain away. "No, man. Those things are evil. They can track you with those, you know, find you where ever you are ... even way out here. A buddy of mine once ..."

Sherlock cut him off, "Do you have a computer? Electricity?"

"Nope. I'm living the simple life out here, dude. Like Thoreau, this is my Walden Pond ... or is it Golden Pond," Rolly stopped for a second and tilted his head and then continued, "No, yeah, it's Walden Pond, yeah Walden ... anyway ... I am one with nature, you know ... like bugs and green things..."

Rolly rambled on and Sherlock's chin jutted, his mouth turned down and his eyes narrowed, pinning themselves to the face of his soon to be victim. As he threw his shoulders back to begin his evisceration, Joan spoke up. "That's nice." Her smile stopped Rolly's monologue and Sherlock's attack. "How far is the nearest house or business from here, do you know?"

"Well, its like nine miles up that way to the highway and uh, like six or seven miles that way to a crossing where the gas station is but Junior closed it down last week..."

"Nothing else in between?" She asked sweetly. 

"Nah, that's why this is the most perfect spot on earth. Nature man, nothing else."

Joan's smile faded and she turned to Sherlock, "We're stuck. Night's falling and the road will be pitch black..."

"I don't suppose you have a flashlight?" The sharpness of Sherlock's tone, elicited an immediate answer.

"Yeah I do."

"Good. May we borrow it?"

"Sure you can have it ... but the batteries are dead." Rolly was surprised by the expletives that poured from the old man's mouth. At least he thought they were curses, certainly were words he'd never heard before. His trio of visitors, turned their backs on him and started talking amongst themselves. The audible snippets of their crosstalk made little sense to Rolly. 

"The Perfumista and his minion are long gone by now. Whatever information he needed from your files I'm sure has been used..."   
"I hate to see a criminal get away ..."  
"We don't even know what crime he committed..."  
"I beg to differ. I was kidnapped and assaulted ..."  
"He stole a car, and phone and most heinously of all, lured me to Jersey ..."  
"I don't see any other option ... we need to go back to the Gates before it gets too dark..." 

Rolly joined the conversation, "The only light I've got is my lantern and I'm running low on kerosene... that's why grandma's coming by tomorrow morning ... you know ... to take me to town to get stuff ..."

They stopped bickering and turned to look at him.

"You are welcome to spend the night." Rolly smiled warmly at Watson. The trio stared blankly at him. "It's small, but I think we can fit ..."

 

The shack was about the size of the brownstone's bathroom with none of the amenities. Rolly generously shared his meager supply of foodstuff with them - Cheez-Its, DingDongs and warm root beer. In exchange for his generosity, Sherlock "wowed" Rolly by deducing the location of his cannabis plantation and then explained to him how better to camouflage his plants from the prying eyes of the local constabulary. 

An exhausted, and frankly bored, Nose was awarded the rickety cot by virtue of his age and injuries. Rolly put up a hammock for himself that Joan was sure would fold the walls in onto themselves at some point in the night and she and Sherlock were relegated to blankets on the floor. The kerosene lamp was extinguished and quiet fell.

"This has not been one of our better days," Joan whispered at Sherlock. She bunched her once carefully protected jacket into a ball under her head in lieu of a pillow.

Sherlock covered her with his jacket. "Agreed. But we have had worse."

Joan moved in closer to him so they could both lay under his jacket. "I suppose..."

 

Sleep came quickly and morning even quicker. Sensing someone standing over him, Sherlock cracked open an eye. 

"Sorry dude, I didn't realize she was yours. I shouldn't have hit on her."

Sherlock looked confused. Rolly nodded and stepped away to pull down his hammock. 

Joan lay curled around him, head on his chest and his arm protectively around her. With a satisfied quirk of the lips, his eyes closed once more. 

A car horn loud enough to warn the country side of an imminent nuclear attack startled them in to a fully awake state. 

"That's grandma. She does not like to be kept waiting so if you want a ride ...." the last of his statement was lost to another series of blasts. Rolly strode out the door followed by his overnight shack guests. 

 

Single file they emerged from the path out onto the road to find a behemoth of a car almost as ancient as the tiny woman in a teal velveteen track suit standing beside it, her hand poised at the open window ready to hit the horn once more. 

"There you are Benjamin! Come on... " she stopped and assessed the group trailing behind Rolly.

"Grandma, would you mind giving these guys a ride? They're stranded out here." 

She was standing next to The Nose, flirtatiously smiling at him. "My you are tall. What might your name be?"

"I am referred to as The Nose, madam." He gave her a bow of the head and the old woman practically giggled. 

"British! Oooo, I love a British accent! The Nose! Sounds like a character from an old Alec Guinness movie!" She opened the passenger side door. "You sit up front with me. Hop in!"

"So very kind," The Nose laid on the old world charm. 

Joan and Sherlock exchanged a look and scooted into the backseat with Rolly. 

Grandma threw the car in gear, hit the accelerator and took off down the road spraying mud and gravel behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Though not a crossover, some of the characters and locations were inspired by Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series.


End file.
